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The Call to Ferguson

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Reuters/Lucas Jackson

The phone rang.  I wasn’t expecting a call so late.  “Would you be willing to go to Ferguson on our behalf?”  I was surprised by the question.  For the last few days, I told numerous people that I would not be traveling to Ferguson.  I didn’t have the money.  I knew I would miss the kids.  I worried about Emily and the pregnancy.  I assumed that more people would only make the situation worse.  I told the caller, “I’ll pray about it.”  I left the conversation very skeptical.

 

I took a moment to close my eyes.  The thoughts flowed from a deep place.  God.  I don’t want to go.  What about Emily and the kids?  What could I possibly do to help?  Where would I stay? God. I will go wherever you lead me.  The thoughts did not lead to an answer.  Questions were more forthcoming.

 

Throughout the night, I kept watching the live footage coming out of Ferguson.  The scenes of chaos rushed my senses over and over again.  The arrests, screams, tear gas, shouts and guns spoke deeply to me.  I saw the people of God being trampled upon.  The call of God is to place our body into such spaces.  I could no longer ignore the call.

 

I now sit at a gas station in Oklahoma.  I don’t know what is going to happen in the next few hours.  I only know that I am responding to the call of God to carry my body to Ferguson to be a part of racial justice and reconciliation that is so desperately needed in our nation.

 

Amen.

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